The street reeked of smoke and blood, mingled with the Orks' peculiar stench. Broken ruins and wreckage littered the ground, forming a filthy mire.
The Ork Boyz Warboss, Hakk'ar Bloodaxe, strode through the chaos toward his destination.
His iron boots crunched over the rubble. His nearly three-meter-tall frame was impossible to miss, and the dark metal plates covering his skin made him look all the more fearsome.
Clearly, Hakk'ar was in a foul mood.
Bad news had been coming one after another.
First, the dozen or so ambush positions he had thought he'd set up so well had melted away beneath the Shrimp's armored advance, like dew under the blazing sun.
Land mines, bunkers, tunnels, barbed wire, anti-tank ditches... none of it could stop the steel tide from rolling onward.
He had clashed with that cunning Shrimp commander before, but Hakk'ar had never imagined his opponent would be so ferocious—or respond so perfectly to his defensive strategy, without delaying the advance by even a second.
Then there was the Speed Freeks Company, which Hakk'ar had once pinned so much hope on. That mad wheel, who bragged all day long, had sworn he would get revenge on the Shrimp.
And what had happened? He hadn't even managed to damage the Shrimp's steel armor. He'd died like a Gretchin, utterly useless.
Next, Hakk'ar had organized a group of Stormboyz and sent them diving in at a suitable spot, hoping they could attack the tanks from above and destroy the Shrimp's armor.
But the anti-aircraft cannons of the flak vehicles had rained down a hail of fire. The Stormboyz, flying through the sky on their rokkit packs, had fallen like raindrops, reduced to wreckage by the barrage.
Whenever he thought about it, confusion and anger burned in Hakk'ar Bloodaxe's heart.
Gork and Mork